I'm No Superman
by jenben
Summary: JD is injured in a car accident. Those close to him express themselves and wonder if he'll live. COMPLETE.
1. Accident

Disclaimer:  I do not own Scrubs, nor do a make any profit from this fictitious story.

A/N: Okay, this is kinda short, but it's to introduce the future chapters, which will follow Turk, Carla, Eliot, and Dr. Cox as they relate themselves to the situation.  I hope you'll leave reviews because I'm curious to know what you think of the story.  Thanks, kids, and enjoy.

I'm No Superman

            They ran him into the ER and the shouting began.

            "110 over 50!  Pulse 116!"

            "What happened?"

            The EMT explained.  "I guess some kids were playing in the street when a car rounded the corner fast; one of the kids didn't think to move fast enough, so this guy ran out, pushed Junior to the curb, and got hit with the car himself.  He saved the kid's life—that's for sure."

            "Yeah, well, let's see what damage it did to our heroic little friend."

            "Baby, you seen JD?  We were supposed to have a pudding eating contest during break."

            "Carla?"  It was Eliot, looking more spacey than usual.  "Where's JD?  I need his opinion about a patient."

            Dr. Cox was the next one to ask, approaching the nurse's station just as Eliot finished her question.  "Where's Bobbie Jo, Carla?  I want him to do a smatechtotry on the patient in 142.  Then I'm gonna kill him for not answering his pager."

            Poor Carla was about to answer that she had no idea where her Bambi was when the phone rang.  "What?" she demanded, getting a little fed up with the neediness that surrounded her.  "Yes, why?  Is he down there?" she asked after a moment.  As she listened, her expression slowly grew more horrified.  After a couple minutes she hung up, but was too shocked to look up at her friend's curious faces.

            "Well, what is it?" Perry finally asked.  "You look like your favorite dog just died."

            "Yeah, what's the matter, baby?"

            "Are you okay, Carla?"

            She looked up at them with tears in her eyes.  "That was the ER.  JD was in an accident."

            While Turk comforted Carla and Eliot with a hug, Dr. Cox was quick to call the ER back.  He wanted answers, and if he had to kill someone to get them…well, he could live with that.

            "John Dorian.  What's his status?"

            "Who?"

            Perry grit his teeth.  "John Dorian!  C'mon, you just called here; use that mass you call a brain and think!"

            Long pause.  "I think he's in surgery."

            "You _think_?  All right, listen up, Sparky:  I want you to go get the doctor who worked on him and bring him to the phone.  Okay?  Can you do that or do I need to call your mommy?"

            The other three might not have voiced it, but they appreciated Dr. Cox's forcefulness.  And it was effective.  JD's ER doctor was on the phone in seconds.

            "Danny Long here."

            "Danny?  It's Perry Cox.  We got a call from your department that you got a John Dorian down there.  What's going on?"

            Dr. Long waited a moment and then sighed.  "Come meet me in the cafeteria."

            Cox hung up the phone and marched towards the dining area.  Turk, Carla, and Eliot were right behind him.

            "Okay.  Talk.

            Long, who seemed to know Dr. Cox, didn't seem too upset by his abrasiveness.  "JD came in after he was hit by a car.  From what the EMT told me, he saw a kid about to get hit and ran to save him—a very heroic young man.  The car would have killed the child for certain.  But JD wasn't just hit; he was thrown over the top of the car.  I discovered an epidural hematoma, a ruptured spleen, and three broken ribs.  He's in surgery right now for the spleen and the hematoma.  Besides cuts and bruises, those are the extent of his injuries to my knowledge.  I can't say what's gonna happen."

            Eliot and Carla turned to Turk for comfort again, the tears flowing freely down their faces.  Even Turk was watery-eyed.

            "How did ER even know he's in our department?"

            Dr. Long shrugged.  "One of our staff recognized him.  Said she'd seen him working with the really psycho doctor.  I assumed that was you."

            "How?  I mean, it's JD.  Stuff like this can't happen to him," Eliot mumbled.  Carla grabbed her friend's hand and squeezed it encouragingly.

            "He's gonna be okay.  He's gonna be just fine."

            Perry stood up.  "Yeah, he might live.  And he _might_ come out of the coma he'll be in.  And he _might_ not have brain damage.  Wouldn't that be nice?  I need a drink."


	2. Carla

Disclaimer:  I do not own Scrubs, nor do a make any profit from this fictitious story.

A/N:  There's a brief discussion of the injuries he sustained followed by Carla's feelings on the matter.  Everybody's reviews are *really* appreciated, so keep 'em coming.  Thanks.

I'm No Superman:  Carla

            After post-op, JD was moved to a room in his own department.  There he lay in a coma, frighteningly still, while the heart monitor beat steadily and the IV drip-fed him drugs.  Of course, it was the large tube down his throat forcing his body to breathe that really unnerved Carla.  He looked so helpless and fragile.  It was an incredible sight.  And a painful one, too.

            Broken ribs are extremely painful but non-problematic.  JD's chest was tightly wrapped in medical tape to help him avoid any stressful movements on the part of his ribs.  Not that he would need the reminder, were he awake.  The pain alone would have kept him in place.

            The ruptured spleen was fortunate in terms of organ damage.  Unlike the kidneys or liver, the spleen is not necessary to survive.  While it does work to fight infection, the body has enough pathogen-fighting defenses to keep illness at bay.  It would take a couple of months for the body to adjust itself to spleenlessness, so JD would be on antibiotics, and his body certainly didn't need the added stress, but a ruptured spleen is rarely life threatening in and of itself.

            As for the epidural hematoma, that was where the most danger lay.  Between the brain and skull is an important shock absorber called dura matter.  A very serious head injury may cause blood to pool either between the brain and the dura matter, known as a subdural hematoma, or between the dura matter and the skull, called an epidural hematoma.  Unfortunately, this blood and subsequent swelling winds up compressing on the brain, since the skull is not flexible.  Such compression can easily result in brain damage if not quickly released.  And if a major hematoma is left untreated, it will kill.  JD's was quite severe, considering the circumstances of his injury.  The only treatment was to drill a burr hole into the skull and release the accumulated blood.  He had only just had a surgeon's electric drill in his head.  Fortunately, he was quite unconscious at the time.  Which was how Carla found him as she entered the room.

            "Oh, Bambi," she whispered, moving slowly to his side.  She gently touched the restraints that held his hands away from his face; victims on a ventilator can be unconsciously violent and try to tear the tube from their mouth.  Her hand moved to brush the gauze around his head and she couldn't help a little smile.  "It's a good thing you can't see your bald little head.  I'll bet you have a fit when you wake up.  If you can see," she whispered.  "If you even have the mental capacity.  Or fine motor skills.  Or—no!"  She shook her head violently.  "No!  I'm not even gonna talk about this."

            Carla took a deep breath.  She suddenly needed to do something productive.  Checking his vitals and IV, she began to talk.  "You know you gotta be okay, right, Bambi?  I mean, who else is gonna keep Dr. Cox in his place, huh?  And who's gonna make sure Turk doesn't get into trouble?  Or save Eliot from herself?  Boy, that girl needs all the help she can get.

            "And you know you're gonna be Turk's best man at the wedding.  He doesn't even have to ask.  I need you to be there for him; help him not to mess up too bad.  If you don't stop him, he'll probably buy a leopard-print tux for the ceremony or have the practice dinner at Burger King.  Who'll give the best-man toast?  Who'll throw Turk a bachelor party with lots of blow-up dolls but no strippers, and keep him from getting drunk, and make sure he doesn't get cold feet?  You're the only one who can do that."

She sniffled, but the hint of a familiar smile entered her face.  "Who's gonna give me that goofy smile to make me laugh when Dr. Kelso acts like a jerk, or run around with two blown-up gloves taped to his ears when I'm having a bad day, just to make me smile?  You gotta be okay, JD.  You're strong and I know you're a fighter—anybody that works with Dr. Cox is a fighter.

            "I hope you can hear me, Bambi.  We all care about you.  You've got to wake up and be you.  I just don't know what we'd do if you…didn't.  But that won't happen.  It can't."

            She was interrupted when Dr. Long walked into the room.  She quickly wiped away her tears and tried to give him a professional nod.  It felt as fake as it looked.  "Just coming to check up," he explained.

            "Of course."

            "He's young, y'know.  Got good help, too.  The odds are in his favor."

            "I know."

            "Of course."

            The awkward moment of silence passed and Dr. Long nodded.  "Well, he seems to be in very good hands.  Let me know if there's a change.  I have to get back to ER."

            Carla suddenly felt very exhausted as she watched the doctor leave.  Sighing, she turned back to JD, rearranged the covers around his neck, and blinked back her tears.  "I'm gonna go now, Bambi, but I expect you to be up and waving sprinklers around the next time I come here.  And you know what I can do if you aren't.  Get better," she whispered and left the room.

            JD never stirred.


	3. Eliot

Disclaimer:  I do not own Scrubs, nor do a make any profit from this fictitious story.

A/N:  Hey, kids!  Thanks for all the fantastic reviews.  I appreciate and encourage them.  And for all you Dr. Cox fans (who isn't?), don't worry.  He'll have his chapter.

I'm No Superman: Eliot

            "Okay, this is something I totally can't deal with," Eliot announced as she entered JD's room.  "And I know it hasn't even sunk in.  I've already made an appointment with my therapist for tomorrow, 'cause I know I'm gonna wake up, remember what happened, and freak out."  She took a deep breath.  "And it just figures _you're_ the person I'd turn to for something like this."

            She grabbed his chart and pulled a chair up to his bedside.  "Let's see what happened," she mumbled.  "CT scan, X-rays, burr hole, internal hemorrhaging, splenectomy, two blood transfusions, .50 g/kg IV q30-60 minutes osmotic diuretic, 150 milligrams streptomycin q2, morphine prn—you were a mess."  She was glad he had come in unconscious so he didn't feel the pain.  "At least, with this much morphine, you're not even gonna know there _was_ an accident.  You'll probably think you're at Disneyland.

            "I'm not going home tonight.  I'm gonna sleep in the doctor's lounge in case anything happens.  Not that I'd _want_ to go home.  I think I'd sell a kidney for a Jacuzzi tub.  I'm almost ready to visit my mom jus to go to the spa.  I talked to Paul about it and he suggested a hot shower with aromatherapy oils.  Can you believe that he suggested that?  He cooks and sews and gardens and he knows about aromatherapy—is he gay?  I think he's gay.  I can live with gay.  I mean, my mom already thinks I'm a lesbian, so why not date a gay guy?  Am I babbling?  I know I'm babbling, but I do it all t he time anyway, so why would I stop now?"

            She finally took a breath and looked down at her hands.  "I guess I really don't want to talk about you, here in this bed, because it is scaring the crap out of me.  If you would just _move_ a little; stop looking so lifeless.  Wake up and say you're gonna be okay, that you're yourself.

            "And why on Earth did you run in the street for that kid?  Okay, I _know_ why you did it, and I know that it was for the best, but look at you!  I mean, if you could see yourself right now, you'd ask why you ran in the street, too!  And that guy that hit you—I hope they beat him.  I hope they send him to Singapore or Texas or something.  We could always make him work under Dr. Cox."

            Eliot stood up.  Her hands began gesturing before she even opened her mouth.  Okay, you know I'm a little neurotic—who doesn't?  So it's kinda tough for me to make friends for longer than a few weeks because I eventually drive them insane.  But you've been my friend for two _years_ and that's the longest I've ever had a friend.  You're my _best_ friend.  And I know Turk is _your_ best friend and we've definitely gone beyond the friendship barrier, but—I'm so glad you can't really hear me—you're the person I'm closest to."  She sat back down.  "I wish it had worked out between us.  Well, _that_ sounds cliché.  Sorry."

            She would have expounded, possibly at great length, on how she was completely attracted to Paul even though he seemed a little feminine and everybody was giving them looks except Laverne who actually said she would have killed to get that Nurse Paul's cute butt alone in a room for an hour, but she didn't believe in dating co-workers, not that her intention was dating.  That's what Eliot _would_ have said if Dr. Cox hadn't stuck his head through doorway.

            "Barbie, Mrs. Pollard has an infection from her catheter.  Go take care of it.  And hurry it up—we have responsibilities to the patients.  You remember those, right?"

            "But, Dr. Cox—"

            "I'm not listening!  Come see me when you're done."

            Eliot rolled her eyes.  "I'd have an easier time getting through to my mother.

            "I'm gonna go now, but I'll come back when my shift ends if Dr. Heartless will let me.  Now you gotta get better, JD.  Please just focus on getting well.  I know you might have brain damage, but don't.  I need you to be you.  Please, JD, _please_ wake up for us.  For me."

            "Barbie!" came from somewhere down the hall.

            "Argh!  Okay, I'll see you later.  And you better get up soon because Dr. Cox is driving me insane."  She looked around and then gave the still form a kiss.  "Bye."

            Somewhere in JD's mind, his subconscious tried to pull up a familiar memory to match the kiss he had received.  But it couldn't seem to make the recollection.


	4. Turk

Disclaimer:  I do not own Scrubs, nor do a make any profit from this fictitious story.

A/N: Wow, your reviews have been so wonderful and encouraging.  I can't thank you enough.  Keep 'em coming because they really do encourage me to write more.  Here is Turk's chapter and I hope you enjoy.  Does anybody know if our favorite janitor has a name?

I'm No Superman:  Turk

It was evening by the time Turk made it into JD's room.  He fell into the chair by the bed with a sigh.  "Dude, you gotta stop spending so much time here.  I mean, you work here, then you had your appendix out here, and now this?  What's wrong with you, man?

            "Sorry it took me so long to get here.  I had some surgical consults and a triple by-pass to sit in on.  Then I went over to St. Andrew's.  I know you're not real religious, but I lit a candle for you; said a few Hail Marys and Our Fathers.  I talked with Father Mike and he told me he'd say a few prayers for you.  And, don't get pissy, but I'm putting my rosary here for now.  I expect you to give it back.

            "All right, I don't want to make this any harder on you, but if you don't get up and out of that bed I'll kick your ass.  I mean it.  I'll kick your ass from here back to residency.  Look, I'm gonna be honest with you:  you're freakin' me out.  This isn't you.  You're always so alive."

Turk shook his head.  "JD, you're my best friend.  We've got drunk together, got each other out of jams, lived together, ate together—you're like the brother I never had.  C'mon, man, you've my _real_ brother.  What am I gonna do if you don't get better?  What is _Carla_ gonna do?  You gotta get well for her sake.  Or at least my sanity.  I asked her what she thought about doing a Shaft theme at the wedding and she went nuts!  I need your help."

            He got up and walked around the room.  "I am so glad it's just you and me in this room because I wouldn't be able to say this otherwise—I love you.  In a totally heterosexual, manly way!  But I love you.  And when I found out this happened, I didn't know what to do.  I had the girls to take care of and my work, but every time I started to not think about this, it came right back.

"When I got to St. Andrews, I _cried_.  I haven't cried since I was eleven and I broke my ankle.  Then I just talked to God.  'Please don't let him die.  Please make him better.  I know that you can do anything, God, so please heal JD because.'  You see, man, I know you're gonna wake up.  I just don't know if you're gonna be the JD I've known for, like, seven years.  Seven _years_.  Will you function enough to be a doctor?  Will you remember me?  Will your personality be the same?  See, this is the problem with being a doctor; I know all the crappy stuff.  Dude, ignorance is bliss and I could totally go for being stupid right now."

            Turk sat back down but he didn't quite know what to do.  He fidgeted a bit and did his best to avoid looking at JD.  "This is crazy.  Stuff like this isn't supposed to happen to us.  The worst thing that ever happened to you besides your appendicitis was when you got stung by that jellyfish during spring break.  Geez, I've never seen anybody freak out that much over a little jelly-filled sack.  You might as well have been stung by a bag of saline solution.  But when that happened, I could do something.  I could help you.  And now I can't do anything.

            "Listen, while you're unconscious, I just want to let you know that I cheated off you during our Chemistry 210 final.  Boy," he laughed nervously, "been wantin' to get that off my chest for awhile.

            "Look, I gotta go.  The girls and I are staying in the doctor's lounge tonight in case anything happens.  Anything _good_, that is.  Because nothing bad will happen.  We just want to be here when you wake up.  So I promised I'd go meet them there.  I wanted to see you first, though.  Y'know, make sure you knew I would kick your ass if you didn't get better.  Hey, what are friend for?

            He slowly pulled the Rosary out of his pocket and set it down on the nightstand.  "I promise when you get out of here we'll do more stuff together.  And not just pudding-eating contests and hitting golf balls off the roof.  We'll take Tod to a gay bar and see what happens, because that dude is totally over compensating.  But we'll take the girls, too.  I'm not showin' up at no gay bar without my woman right next to me.

            "Get better, man," Turk said, then adjusted the rosary and walked out the door.  He poked his head through, however, and added, "Because I _will_ kick your ass if you don't."

            A few brains cells misfired in JD's head and the swelling was inhibiting the normal functions.  Nevertheless, a tiny electrical impulse made its way from one synapse to another and the still figure recalled a lecture on the reactivity of oxygen he had heard many years ago.  And although it would have been nearly imperceptible to anyone, his body seemed to relax just slightly, as though the random memory evoked the sensation of warmth and a feeling of peace.


	5. Perry

Disclaimer:  I do not own Scrubs, nor do a make any profit from this fictitious story.

A/N:  Okay, I'm _really_ gonna need some feedback on this chapter.  Everybody was so looking forward to the Perry chapter and now it's here and I don't know if it's good enough.  Also, for your edification, "cyanosis" is the blue color the skin takes on due to oxygen deprivation and the pulse oximetry is a machine that reads how much oxygen is in the blood.  83 is a very low number.

I'M NO SUPERMAN:  PERRY

Perry found Carla, Eliot, and Turk in the doctor's lounge.  They sat, chatting quietly with Paul, Ted, and Laverne.  The haggard lawyer looked exceptionally bewildered.  He kept humming the theme to Charles in Charge.  Paul sat next to Eliot, silently holding her hand.  Laverne was talking to Carla until Ted's incessant humming finally caught her attention.

            "Boy, you don't stop that hummin', you gonna be a soprano; and I ain't talkin' 'bout the TV show."

            "You wouldn't be the first to say that to me," he replied as if he were telling her the weather.  He turned to Perry.  "No one appreciates a good theme song.  JD appreciates a good theme song."  The rest of the people, quiet and stunned, watched him leave.

            Turk shook his head.  "That man needs to get laid _now_."

            "That boy needs to get laid _yesterday_," Laverne asserted.  Her face softened a little.  "Y'all get some sleep.  He's gonna be just fine," she promised as she left to go on duty.

            Perry sat down on the coffee table across from the remaining hospital staff.  He set down his clipboard.  He pursed his lips.  "What are you doing here?"

            "We're staying the night."

            "We want to be close to JD."

            "If anything happens."

            "So then, my theory that your combined IQ's are lower than my old football number is right."  They started to object but Perry raised his hand to silence them.  "Go home.  You can't do anything here so you might as well go home and sleep."

            "But we want to be here if something happens," Carla explained.

            "Unless Laverne suddenly forgot how to dial a phone—and trust me, that would never happen—she can call you.  You guys _do_ know what a phone is, right?"

            That elicited more objections.  "Look, Dr. Cox, JD is our friend and we don't want to just leave him here alone.  Can't you understand that?"

            "What I understand is that it's stupid to sit around and wait for something to happen.  Only an idiot would stay in the doctor's lounge and be miserable.  Tell Laverne that you're leaving and then go home; _if_ something happens while you're—god forbid—not here, she'll send out some smoke signals.  Do you understand or should I try interpretive dance?"

            They looked at each other.  If they all went back to the apartment, it was only a ten-minute walk by foot to reach the hospital and a two-minute drive.  And the comfort of home sounded really, really good.  Turk stood up, having made the decision.  "C'mon, guys, let's go.  We should let out the dog, anyway."

            "I didn't know you had dog," Paul muttered as he left with Eliot.  "Is it nice?"

            Turk looked behind him at Paul.  "Oh, sure, but he likes to jump up on people."

            Perry was thrilled they were leaving.  His shift had ended an hour ago and he was about to go check on Sally.  With Turk, Carla, and Eliot gone, he could be sure no one would walk in on him bearing his soul.  He didn't want to let on that he had a soft spot for Newbie.

            The truth was, Perry felt a wreck all day.  He could not stop thinking about JD.  The usually easy-going, helpful young man he regularly spent so much time insulting was instead lying comatose in his own hospital.  It was something out of a nightmare.  _He_ was a nightmare.  The entire day had been spent yelling at people and making their lives miserable.  He had actually made a person cry.  Just burst into tears right there in the hospital bedroom.  Apparently some people couldn't handle being called a colossal moron whose capacity for simple tasks was rivaled only by a very advanced cabbage.  Patients could be so touchy.

            Perry braced himself and entered the dark hospital room.  He had been nervous to face patients before, but never had he experienced such dread.  He needed to shake the fear that gripped him.  "Okay, Millie, let's get this over with.

            "What the _hell_ were you thinking?  Is it that you have just _no_ common sense whatsoever, or do you have a death wish?  Did it never occur to you to yell at the kid instead of running between him and a car?  C'mon!  We're not talking about brain surgery here; it's a car, it—"  He stopped mid-rant, surprised by his own choice of words.  "Brain surgery?  Well, that tops my list of stupid things to say.

            "Newbie, I'm about to tell you something I would never say otherwise.  Here it goes:  I like you.  I don't just tolerate you like I do most of the people I know, I actually give a damn.  Do you know how unusual that is?  And it was just a big, huge mistake.  Life has been pretty crap for me at times, but it cannot be so ironic as to bring me a kid and then let a kid with so much potential die.  That—that's just _cruel_.  Now you can see why I should have just brushed you off like all the other interns.  What was I thinking?"

            Cox let his body go slack in the chair by the bed.  He was rambling almost as badly as Barbie, and it pained him.  Where was his bravado?  Where was that badass attitude he used to scare everyone away?  He knew where it was.  It was outside of his young protégé's room, where it belonged.

"You're a good doctor, JD."  That name sounded so odd.  Had he _ever_ referred to him as 'JD?'  "I know you're desperate for my approval—God only knows why—but you've got it.  Not that I would ever say that to your face.  You can never be good _enough_.  Once you think you're good, people can die.  But you're good with the patients, you know what you're doing more often than you don't know, and you care.  That's the difference between you and I and Bob Kelso:  he's a dick.  I just act like one.  You…don't.  Why is it that after all this time you still don't hate people?  Have I had _no_ influence on you?

            "Okay, so why do I treat you the way I do?  Let's be honest, Heather, I treat everybody this way.  My therapist is pretty sure it's because I'm a jerk, and I'm inclined to agree.  He was the one who told me to get you back to my shift.  You're a good influence.  Shouldn't it be the other way around?  Shouldn't _I_ be teaching _you_?"

            Per usual, Perry's mood shifted drastically.  He slammed his fist into the arm of the chair and stood up.  "Dammit!  Why did this happen?"  He looked around for something to kick but it was all too expensive to break.  He was asking so many questions and there was an abundance of no answers.  Finally, realizing there was nothing he could cause damage to, he sat back down.  "And people wonder why Jordan divorced me," he mused.  "I'd have divorced me, too.

            "Listen, Ethel, I honestly don't think I could handle it if you died or came out of this differently.  You're meant to be a doctor; so when you wake up, which I know you're gonna do, don't have brain damage.  Just don't.  It'd really piss me off."  He looked down at his unconscious protégé—his responsibility.  "I don't think," he whispered slowly, "that I would know how to deal.  You can't do this to me.  You're just trying to make me feel bad for all the crap I've given you.  Well, congratulations, it's working."

            Perry went lax in the chair.  His face was drawn and he looked so morose.  He was genuinely sad; it wasn't the sort of self-loathing depression he found himself feeling whenever he did something spectacularly stupid.  It was akin to the heart wrenching he felt when Jordan divorced him.  A sense of loss.  Overwhelming despair.

            "I'm so tired," he mumbled, his eyes already beginning to close.  "God, please let him wake up before I do."

            Perry was only asleep for a couple hours before JD's respirator began beeping frantically.  "Holy hell!" the older doctor cried as he flew out of his seat and looked around.  "JD!"

            JD was going into respiratory arrest.  "Code blue!"

It was only a couple of seconds before the room was filled with doctors, nurses, aides, and orderlies and they all turned to Dr. Cox, who was, as the first doctor there, in charge.  But he didn't know what to do at first.  JD was on a ventilator.  How could he be going into arrest?

            "What's his pulse oximetry read?"

            "83."

            "How is that possible?"

"He's going into cyanosis, Doctor!"

"I'm not blind!  Dammit, what are you doing, JD?  Why are you—his ribs!  Call the OR; we need to get him into emergency surgery.  Tell them it's a possible pulmonary edema."

The call was made and JD was whisked out, leaving Laverne and Perry alone in the room.  They looked at each other.

            "What do you think?"

            "I think you had better call the little gang and let them know what happened."

            "He's gonna be okay, y'know."

            Perry turned to her.  "No.  I don't know."


	6. Perry again

Disclaimer:  I do not own Scrubs, nor do a make any profit from this fictitious story.

A/N: I felt like I didn't do Perry justice, so I added a bit more for him as well as explaining what happened to JD.  Plus, the gang finally comes together.

I'M NOT SUPERMAN:  PERRY (AGAIN)

            Perry sat in the doctor's lounge, but his mind was miles away.  How could something so horrible happen to someone so good?  The kid had a heart of gold, for heaven's sake!  And then to _be_ there, in the room, watching him change shades of blue—it tugged at heartstrings he didn't even know existed.  He wanted to yell or scream or hit something or at least sigh; he couldn't even find the strength to sigh.  When Turk, Eliot, and Carla rushed into the room, all Perry did was glance up at them.

            "What happened?"

            Cox blinked and then turned his attention back to the wall.  He wanted to reply; he knew they were upset, too.  But, for once in his life, he just couldn't will himself to talk.  Instead, they waited in silence for any word from the OR.  The longest two hours any of them had ever waited.

            Dr. Mark Singer, JD's surgeon, walked into the doctor's lounge.  Everyone, including Perry, was out of their seat in a second.  A chorus of "well?" "how is he?" and "what happened?" bombarded the newcomer.

            "Calm down; sit down; he's okay.  One of Dr. Dorian's broken ribs nicked his aorta during the accident, but it was almost unnoticeable, especially when he first came in.  As time passed, the scratch grew in size and the amount of blood flowing into his lungs increased until he arrested in his room.  I repaired the graze on his heart and emptied his lungs, as well as giving him an additional two units of blood.  He's back on the ventilator in the ICU and we're keeping him there at least until he wakes up."

            "And the oxygen deprivation?"

            Singer looked over at Cox.  The brain's functioning depends on the oxygen in the blood and any prolonged time without the oxygen can result in brain damage.  Or, at least, _further_ brain damage than the hematoma caused.  "Everybody's different—you know that.  We drained him as fast as we could but I don't know how he's going to be when he wakes up.  We'll know soon enough.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go check on him in post-op."

            "I can't believe this."

            "How could they miss something like that?"

            "Poor JD."

            Silence reigned in the room until Carla finally noticed something.  "What are you doing here?" she asked Perry.  "How did you get here before us?"

            JD's teacher/mentor/father figure looked up.  "I was here when he arrested."

            Turk's brow furrowed.  "You were here?  You didn't go home?  Do you mean that after that speech you gave us about how stupid we were to stay here, you did it yourself?"

            "Yes.  Do you have a problem with that?"

            "You're damn right I do!  You're such a hypocrite!  We left JD here because you said—"

            Carla placed a gentle hand on her fiancé's arm.  "Stop.  This isn't helping.  We need to pull together, not bite each other's heads off.  Do you two think you can do that?"

            They didn't respond but the bickering stopped.  After a few minutes, Perry glanced at Eliot.  "Where's your little—"  He paused.  It was not the time for messing with her head.  "Where's Paul?"

            The hint of a smile brushed passed Eliot's face.  Dr. Cox had restrained himself for her sake.  "He took some Nyquil for a cold; I couldn't get him to wake up."

            An actual smile appeared on Turk's face.  "That isn't totally true, Eliot.  He woke up.  He just referred to you as 'stewardess" and asked if you would please turn off the monkey and hand him a bag of peanuts."

            "You'll have to ask him about his dreams tomorrow," Carla suggested.  "Or just hand him a bag of nuts and tell him you couldn't find the monkey."

            Eliot smiled her reply but the moment passed and they were quiet again.

"How are Jordan and the baby?" Carla asked finally.

"A pain in the ass.  Well, Jordan is, at least.  The kid's okay—he's pretty quiet, for an infant, but I feel sorry for him.  I mean, if I grew up with Jordan as a mom, I'd probably run away or become a psycho ax-murderer.  Poor kid."

            "How is she as a mother?  Honestly."

            Perry thought for a moment.  "Attentive.  She really loves him.  It's weird; she acts like he's a problem and she doesn't enjoy it, but I've never seen her so happy.  It's probably because she's got me running circles.  She's a demon warrior, spawned in hell, and sent to make my life a living nightmare.  I'm so glad she's living in my apartment."

            Carla and Perry continued chatting about the baby and Jordan.  It was something familiar, a subject they could discuss without thinking about JD.  Eventually they noticed that Turk and Eliot had both fallen asleep.  "What do we do now?" Carla asked.

            "We wait."

            "I hate waiting."

            "Talk to me about it."

            Carla looked whom she would loosely call her friend in the eye.  "It's just us; they're asleep.  How are you doing?"

            "I visited California a few years ago and there was an earthquake.  The whole world feels like it's going nuts and everything's moving and falling over and there's nothing you can do to stop it.  Right now, everything is upside down and falling over and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it."

            "Driving you nuts?"

            He gave her a dry smile.  "Yeah, but it's a short trip."


	7. JD

Disclaimer:  I do not own Scrubs, nor do a make any profit from this fictitious story.

A/N:  Thanks for all the great reviews.  They really encourage me to write for the story, even though I've been experiencing some writer's block.  More reviews are greatly encouraged and I would be endlessly grateful for your constructive criticism.  Hey—I'd do it for you.

I'M NO SUPERMAN:  JD

_I haven't felt this relaxed since…well, since before I was self-aware.  This is great!  I should be in a coma more often.  I wonder how long they'll let me stay like this._

_They'd probably appreciate it if you woke up._

_I don't want to.  And who are you?_

_Y'know how you're always stopping and looking off to space, then daydreaming some crazy situation?_

_Yeah._

_That'd be me.  Hi._

_Hi._

_You were saying something about staying in the coma.  That's not a good idea.  Somebody—and I'm not naming names but it'll either be Turk, Carla, Eliot, or Dr. Cox—will beat you into consciousness.  That could get pretty ugly.  Especially if it's Carla.  Dude, that girl could kick your ass._

_No kidding.  _Most_ girls can kick my ass.  But why do I have to get up?  Do you know how difficult it is out there?  There's a _reason_ I'm here.  I can't do anything right.  I blow it with every woman out there—I even blew it with Eliot.  I couldn't please Dr. Cox if I raised a patient from the dead.  He'd still find some way to make me feel stupid and insignificant.  I'm getting awfully tired of being good-natured.  And Turk and Carla?  Did you see the way I betrayed my best friend?  I'm so lucky he forgave me.  He shouldn't have.  I didn't deserve it.  Man, I am such an ass!  So what do I have to get up for?  My girlfriend?  The esteem of my colleagues?  My best friend?  Just…just let me enjoy this.  Let me stay wrapped up in my happy little morphined cocoon.  Which really begs the question:  Why do we keep giving this stuff to the patients?_

_While you make an excellent argument for the abuse of morphine by medical personnel, cut the crap.  This pansy-assed pity party is beneath you.  Those people are your friends.  And I hate to break it to you, but they're the only friends you've got.  Geez!  You get hit by one little car and all you can do is bitch and moan.  Get _over_ yourself.  You know those people care about you.  JD, you _know_ they do.  No matter how much you screw up or how much Dr. Cox rags on you, they care.  Even Dr. Cox.  I think.  Well, he probably does._

_But it's been so hard lately.  So much going on.  It's calm in here and it's…crazy out there.  You have to admit—this is the best vacation we've ever had.  _I've_ ever had.  You?  Okay, they should probably start feeding me an anti-psychotic now.  This goes _way_ beyond talking to yourself._

_What do you want to hear from me?  You want me to tell you it's okay to give up?  You want me to suddenly say, "Sure, just lie there and let your whole future go to hell."  Well, no!  I'm not gonna say that!  There will always be rough spots in your life.  They'll pass.  _

_What if they don't?_

_They will._

_But what if they _don't_?_

_Listen.  To.  Me.  They will.  You gotta believe me, man.  If you're gonna believe anybody, you gotta believe _me_.  Would I steer you wrong?  Me?  Us?  Maybe they _should_ start a drip of some anti-psychotic._

_Told you so._

_It's time to get up, JD._

_But—_

_No.  It's time to get up.  Get.  Up._

_Wish me luck._

_There's no such thing as luck.  But I'm gonna guess that if there were, you'd need a lot more than I could wish for you._

_Thanks for the moral support._

_You're welcome_.

JD woke up.


	8. Superman

Disclaimer:  I do not own Scrubs, nor do a make any profit from this fictitious story.

I'M NO SUPERMAN:  SUPERMAN

A/N:  It's done.  Finished.  Complete.  I appreciate _so much_ all of the reviews you guys had for me; it really helped me get this story done.  If you would be kind enough to leave your last ones, I'd be eternally grateful.  Finally, I'd like to ask y'all to write some _Scrubs_ fics.  We only have 18 and I think there should be more.  Thanks once more—your humble author.

The Janitor.  That was the first thing he saw when he woke up.  Ventilation tube down his throat, high as a kite, dizzy, confused, and there was the janitor looking right down at him.  It was his worst nightmare, except that some compassionate IV tube was feeding him gobs of morphine.

            "I kinda like you like this—strapped down to the bed.  Keeps you out of trouble.  Keeps you from stealing any of my tools.  And I know you do that."  JD wanted to reply that he had never stolen any of the man's tools and weren't there laws against lunatics in the ICU?  But he _did_ have a large tube down his throat, making it difficult to talk.  "I guess I should go get a doctor, huh?  Now don't you go anywhere.  I'm sure there's a doctor around her some place."  He stopped as he headed out the door.  He turned around.  "I'm glad you're awake.  I was pretty worried.  But don't tell anybody or I'll have to kill you."

            JD blinked.  He was awake, right?  This wasn't some drug-induced hallucination?  He tensed suddenly, afraid that clowns might start popping out of the walls.  Clowns.  He _hated_ clowns.  Scary, evil clowns that liked to kill the bad children after spinning them into cocoons of cotton candy.  Fortunately, the only thing that popped into his room was Dr. Singer, the man who had repaired his heart, and a nurse to assist.  His janitor was nowhere to be seen.

            "Well, good morning, Dr. Dorian.  How do you feel this morning?  I suppose you'd like that vent tube out."

            _How am I?  Do I want the tube out?_  _You're an idiot, aren't you?  Mother do a lot of drinking while she was pregnant?  Well, at least you don't have to find a nursing home for Jordan and Dr. Cox one day_.

            They removed the tube at some cost to JD; he had to cough it up and it left his throat raw and sore.  "Now, Dr. Dorian, we both know your throat will heal faster if you don't talk, but we have some business to get out of the way.  How do you feel?"

            "Like crap," JD replied hoarsely.

            The doctor smiled.  "Glad to hear it.  Now, I want you to bear with me.  I need to assess any brain damage you may have incurred, so if you wouldn't mind answering a few questions, we'd all be happier for it.  Y'ready?"  JD just nodded.  "Okay, what is your full name?"

            "John Dorian."

            "Where are you?"

            "Sacred Heart Hospital."

            "And what are you doing here?"

            JD paused.  That was a very good question.  He suddenly felt like he was doing rounds with Kelso and coming up with a blank.  There hadn't been any notes on this in his textbooks and he felt like panicking.  "I—I don't know."

            "It's all right; calm down.  That isn't too unusual with a head wound.  Let's try something a little easier.  What year is it?"

            "2003."

            "What is the last thing you remember?"

            He really had to give that question some thought.  He remembered being late for something.  "I was walking to work but I was late and…my pager kept going off…there were some kids in the street and then a car came around the corner…one kid didn't move…I think I ran to get him.  What _happened_?"

            "You ran to get the boy but you got hit by the car instead."

            "Am…am I okay?"

            Dr. Singer shrugged.  "I don't know.  We removed your spleen and you suffered from a couple of broken ribs.  You had an epidural hematoma that was operated on and later you went into pulmonary arrest but I drained you and repaired the knick on your heart.  Physically speaking, you should pull through just fine, although the next time you run in front of a speeding car I'm just going to throw you into a body bag; you're too much work."

            "So what's the matter?  Why don't you know if I'm okay?"

            "Why don't you tell me?"

            Another question.  This doctor was just full of questions.  "Well, there is the possibility of a post-op infection because you took out my spleen.  I could also have a brain injury from the hematoma; a possible neuro-physiological defect or resulting brain damage.  Plus, if you operated on an epidural hematoma, that means you shaved my head and I'm bald."

            There was a wide smile on the doctor's face.  "Yes, you're definitely bald, and from what I can surmise, you're not too bad as far as brain damage is concerned.  I'll test you some more later and see how your reflexes are, but it's good to know you haven't forgotten your first year of med school.  Now go back to sleep; you look like you could use it."

            JD stopped the man as he was headed out the door.  "How long have I been unconscious?"

            "About five days."

            He settled back in his bed, weak and in pain, but surprisingly optimistic.  Five days.  That was the longest vacation he'd had in years.  And although he couldn't think past the morphine fog in his brain, it felt good to be there, awake and alive.  He drifted off to sleep, unaware of the four people standing outside his room, unseen.

            "Looks like he's gonna be okay."

            "I never doubted it; JD can be pretty tough when he wants to be."

            "Oh, yeah.  He's a regular Rambo in scrubs."

            "Hey, at least he's awake and coherent.  You can't deny you were worried about him."

            "I know I was; I had a three hour session with my therapist yesterday."

            "I haven't even been able to think straight for the past week."

            "Yeah, it'll be good to have Annie back at work, singing her songs and cheering up all the little orphans."

            "Would that make you Daddy Warbucks?"

            "Don't go there."

            "I love _Annie_!  Did you guys see the one on Broadway?  Oh, and how much do you love _The Sun'll Come Up Tomorrow_?  That is the best song ever!"

            "If you start singing it, I'll sedate you."

            "C'mon, who wants a coffee?  I'm buying."

            "Sounds good."

            "I'll come as long as Barbie doesn't try to sing."

            "I'm not gonna sing."

            "Five bucks says she starts singing it."

            "You're on."

            "Guys!"

            _I started back to work two weeks later.  Everybody seemed a little nervous and walked on eggshells, but not Dr. Cox.  He was his usual self, and it felt surprisingly good._

            "Get your ass in gear, Amanda, I'm not gonna wait around all day while you put in a simple catheter."

            _Yeah, that was Dr. Cox.  But the weird thing is, as much as he was his usual self, I noticed that he patted me on the back a few times and came to my defense when Kelso started on a rant.  I couldn't deny that he was looking out for me, even if he was going about it like a mutant mother hen.  _

_Turk was different, too.  We did more stuff together; we went to an actual golf course instead of hitting balls off the roof and he actually let me drag him to the art museum with Carla and me.  I was hearing a lot more,_ "Hey, dude, you wanna go see the new X-men movie?  I hear the blue chick is supposed to be da _bomb_!"

            _Carla had started consulting me about her wedding and what to do with Turk.  She gave me a list, telling me what he was supposed to want.  If he said he wanted the practice dinner at Burger King, I was supposed to tell him that he really wanted it at Red Lobster.  She had become a little mutant mother henish, too, but better than Dr. Cox, not that it would be hard to improve on him._

_            Eliot wasn't different, but she came to me more often to get things off her chest.  In more ways than one.  Apparently, when you have a near death experience, it calls for sex.  Not that I was going to complain, mind you, but I still didn't know where that left us.  I love her, she loves_ _me, we have great sex together, but we aren't dating, but we're not exactly just friends, and I think the relationship is as complicated as Eliot._

            I wouldn't say the accident was a life-altering experience for me.  It gave me a much-deserved vacation, but there was no "life flashing before my eyes" type of thing.  Actually, my friends changed more than I did.  Not too noticeably, and I'm sure they didn't see it, but I did.  It makes all the difference to have people who care about you.  People who worry about you.  People whose lives stop because you're lying in a coma.  That's the sort of thing you can drag yourself out of bed for (or out of a coma.  Whatever).  As crazy as they are, they're mine.  And they care.  I can live with that.

            Although, to be honest, it would have been nice if a cute nurse had thrown herself, weeping, onto my unconscious body, maybe performing a little CPR for good measure.

Fini


End file.
